


Sinful Pleasure

by groaar



Series: Dysfunctional [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groaar/pseuds/groaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris returns from an action-packed day with Hawke and company, and suddenly he finds himself the target of unbidden lust. Coming to terms with the emotions that arise is more than the elf can handle.</p>
<p>This is a series that focuses on the relationship between Fenris and Anders. At this point there is little actual FenrisxAnders, but some subtle hinting can be found. The stories are snapshots, describing just one certain point in time, and so far they can be read as standalones. This one takes place sometime during Act I in the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinful Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> This short work only features Fenris, and focuses on when he first discovers traces of what could possibly be feelings towards the mage, and his inability to come to terms with them. So, not actually Fenris/Anders, but rather a first step towards it.

The moment Fenris entered his big, empty mansion a rush of fatigue washed over his body, spreading into every inch of it, settling there. It was festering, and refusing to leave. The elf hadn’t been this exhausted after a mission for ages, and for a moment he even suspected some foul play. Perhaps poisonous gas had been leaked into his house on the orders of Danarius – an elaborate plan to capture him indeed.

His hand was already resting on the hilt of his sword, the marks of lyrium glowing faintly, before the elf realised how foolishly he acted. Danarius had nothing to do with his weariness. It was only his weak mind that had temporarily been drawn into the lies and tricks of exhaustion. He should have known better.

The quest hadn’t even been too hard. Yes, the elf had used up a good amount of his stamina holding off some rather persistent thugs while Hawke and the mage had been tending to a wounded Merrill. She might be a cursed blood mage who was undeniably barking mad, but a companion nonetheless, at least for now. However, knowing the true nature of mages Fenris was sure this would change one day. But other than that it had been a breeze, leaving the reasons to his weakness a mystery.

Dragging his feet up the dusty stairs Fenris let his mind wander, letting it drift away wherever it wanted, or needed to, in order to escape the pitiful reality he was currently living. He put down his bloodied sword by the bed; out of the way but not too far should the need to use it suddenly arise. The elf then proceeded to strip his armour, slowly loosening the different straps and belts that held his clothing in place. In the process of undressing his hand accidentally swept over his privates, giving rise to a shudder that quickly worked its way through his slender, yet muscular frame.

Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t be so easily swayed by pleasure, but he had neither had the time nor will to deal with such urges lately, and it was clearly taking its toll on his body. That his thoughts had caught on to this reaction, secretly whispering promises of release and bliss from inside his own mind, didn’t make thing better either. The silver haired elf cursed under his breath as a slight flush rose to his cheeks – damned be all worldly pleasures.

Fenris’s first thought was to ignore the feeling, like he did most times, but his unfocused mind-set – brought on by the exhaustion, no doubt – made it harder. And, as the familiar tingling, the warmth that centred between his thighs, radiated out into the rest of his worn body he decided to give in to his needs, this once. Just this once.

With as much patience as the elf could muster, he finished stripping his upper body of all clothes, waiting, willing the unwelcome need to disappear on its own – it didn’t. Sighing he reached for the hem of his tights, hesitantly fingering at it for a while, before pushing them down, releasing some of the pressure. When having lowered the blackish leggings to just under the fold of his knee a stinging pain shot through his lower back. Fenris inhaled sharply, rapidly straightening his back, his facial features twisting into a mask of pain.

He moved his arms around to his back, allowing his callous hands to kneed the sore spot, likely a strained muscle, gradually reducing the intense pain to a mere dull aching. Much to his dismay Fenris felt himself relaxing into his own touch, and as the pain slowly melted away it was replaced by an even stronger hunger for lust. His lyrium infused hands still busy working at his back he wriggled out of his tights, kicking them off as they fell to his ankles. Now his smalls were the only thing separating him from the source of his want – his need – and needless to say they didn’t stay on for long.

Stark naked Fenris stood in his chilly Hightown mansion, the cool night air causing shivers to travel up and down his spine. Bare feet padded over to the grey stone wall, against which Fenris rested the palm of his hand for support. The other hand he put into – more useful – action.

His cold hand was franticly working at meeting the demands of his lyrium covered body. Tirelessly the slender fingers, their grip rough and almost bordering on painful, moved up and down his stiff member. Grappling clumsily, hastily, sending jolts of pleasure through his lithe elven form.

Then, without warning, blond hair fluttered past his closed eyelids.

Fenris stopped all movement.

Although the want was still there, throbbing, pleading for attention, the man was too surprised, too revolted to continue.

He knew the sight, and it shouldn’t be in his head, ever, and especially not at a time like this.

And worst of all was that his inner image had not made his need lesser, on the contrary, his body was practically crying for attention – perhaps even more so than earlier.

The elf steadied himself against the wall with both hands now. His breath was shaky, his body trembling. He tried hard to gather his thoughts, make light of the situation, but his desire ridden mind made short work of his attempts. He was too aroused to just stop, but afraid of what he might encounter if he chose to go on.   

After a moment of deliberation he decided, against his better judgement, to continue, but with his eyes open so to avoid any further inconveniences.

It worked well at first. However, as he anew lost his mind to a lust-crazed frenzy, as he rapidly approached release, his eyelids, involuntarily, slid shut.

Blond hair, feathers, honey-brown eyes, it all flashed before him.

Fenris bit down on his lip hard, hard enough to draw blood, to stop the inevitable from happening. Sadly, he was already too far gone and simply stifling the moan threatening to escape the depths of his throat was enough of a struggle. Waves of pleasure washed over him, shaking him to the core, and for a few seconds his mind went completely blank. The next moment he felt the wet, sticky cum on his hand and shame successively replaced the blissful feeling that had inhabited his body for better part of this small escapade.  

His legs were trembling with fatigue and Fenris let himself slide down to his knees, resting his sweaty forehead against the clammy, cold stonewall. A final shudder ripped through his slumped frame, and he noticed his lyrium markings glowing. The elf averted his eyes from the sight and instead focused on steadying his rugged breath, his trembling legs, and his shook up mind. He tried to make sense of it, of what had happened, of why it had happened when it so clearly should not have.

Lustful disgust or perhaps disgust fuelled by lust; Fenris could not tell, nor did he care. 

Either way it was wrong.

Utterly distasteful.

Abominable.  

Hiding what had taken place in the murky darkness of his mansion was no challenge, Fenris would simply never breath a word of it to the outside world – why would he? The real test though, lay in denying the matter to himself. The elf knew what he had seen, knew what he had imagined. Undeniably, many a man with blond hair and brown eyes walked upon this earth, however, the feelings of disgust and vile that now infested Fenris’s mind were all too intense for it to have been just anyone, for it to have been just someone else.

Part of the elf was keen on blaming the mage for this incident, how else – if magic had not meddled with his thoughts – would such an image bring him over the edge? Still, no matter how appealing the argument sounded, Fenris knew it was untrue, because just as much as he loathed the mage, the mage detested him as well.

A thought that only led to further confusion.

Alone, disgusted and unclean the elf sat huddled against the wall of his room. His hand was sticky, his body spent, his thoughts unclear – even to himself. As the night slowly ticked by Fenris could only pray that Hawke would not bring both him and the mage along on any missions during the days to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what possessed me to write this, but a sudden urge, most likely stress induced, overcame me. It was a nice piece to write, nonetheless.


End file.
